


Formula

by Silver33650



Series: Tarnished Ghosts and Polished Shadows [6]
Category: Fortnite (Video Game)
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Technology, Alternate Timelines, Apocalypse, Betrayal, End of the World, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26992459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver33650/pseuds/Silver33650
Summary: Seven visitors try to save the world, then find themselves taking a different approach when the end of the world is at stake. Written for the one year anniversary of The End event.
Series: Tarnished Ghosts and Polished Shadows [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923190
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Formula

The mission started with a meteor, but the story begins with a butterfly. 

He'd found it in one of the gardens while playing and alerted one of the mothers immediately because that was what he'd been told to do. The mother came over and inspected it, using the slicer on her wrist to prod the wings open to better see where it went. Then a group came and closed off the area so that they could build a new lab around it, and there would be no more playing in that part of the gardens. 

He was upset, because he loved the wide-petaled flowers that grew in that area and gave off such a nostalgic scent. He told this to the mother who had helped him, and she listened and nodded and said she'd make some inquiries. And they were all successful, so she became his only mother, and he moved into the main hall and received a slicer on his wrist. 

There, he grew up surrounded by mirrors, metals, and machines. 

The mirrors seized him first. Smooth and glassy, each showing a different reflection. Windows to other worlds. He watched the others grow in time with himself, mesmerized as they began to diverge. Another was stockier, another grew a bust. But always they had the same face, the same slicer on their wrist. 

Our, he thought. Our wrist. 

He told his mother the mirrors weren't really mirrors if they showed someone else, and she laughed. He would learn, she knew, and told him so, and at first he did not believe. But he would. 

He bounced between the labs and learned about the different types of metals they formulated. Adjustments to the percentages of different elements. Aluminum. Titanium. Iron and gold. Some better suited for this type of space travel, while others were better suited for crafting the slicers. They used the information gained from the places beyond the rifts, where the butterflies took them back and forth. But no one would tell him what materials were used to make the mirrors, and he wondered if it was because nobody knew. If the mirrors had just always been there, and always would. 

When he was old enough, he got to work more with the machines they built. Machines to calculate mass, to calculate acceleration, to calculate force. Machines to tie all the calculations together. Of course, he was taught how to do the calculations by hand as well, as were all of his reflections in their own homes far away. Some of them were smarter, better; he found he was merely average, even among those in his own world. But he wasn't worried when the machines were so, so accurate. 

The machines monitored the many fluctuations in every measurable metric across the universe. Changes in mass, in energy, in time. There were points where the equations were volatile, where whole rooms were dedicated to watching them. And then there was the point where all the numbers changed but the result remained the same. 

Zero. 

Such a place should have been impossible, and so it received the bulk of attention. Always there was someone watching it, in the event that the impossible numbers became possible. But every day he went to watch, the numbers remained steadfast in their defiance of all known mathematics: stubbornly frozen at zero. 

All of his reflections saw the same impossible point, and none of them had any explanation for it either. Nor was there any explanation for the things that the Zero Point made possible: a loop churning in place, a bridge between the worlds, and, most curiously, a landmass where people actually lived. 

It was this aspect of the Zero Point that fascinated him the most, as did it to many of his reflections. _How can this be?_ they wondered. The collisions taking place around the singularity should have been too violent to support such a structure. And yet, there it was. Violating all their known laws, oblivious to its own abnormality. 

The island itself was fascinating enough, but then there was the fact that life existed there. And more curiously, what sorts. Abundant flora of the usual sort: trees, grasses, flowers. But no animals that weren't self-aware, which was quite a wide definition. Upright sentient creatures of all kinds would come to find the impossible place home, and they built some semblance of a society and lived. 

For a time, at least. Inevitably they were shot or exploded or fallen to the bottom of a cliff, and they disappeared for a time until returning again as the entire island reset as if nothing had ever happened. 

There it was. The loop aspect.

He began to wonder, were they connected? And if so... did the island cause the loop, or did the loop cause the island? 

He longed to investigate. To experiment. But the Zero Point was too valuable for anyone to simply travel to. There were rules and protocols, as things that got too near the Zero Point had a habit of getting stuck there, as was the case with most singularities. So he would be content with watching and wondering, and tried to put it out of his head. 

Until the day came where it was detected that a meteor would strike the island. 

* * *

At first, it only seemed that it would be a near miss. A pass, he was told, with low risk. Then the risk became higher, and higher, and then a certainty. Then it was just a matter of where it would land. 

The machines hummed a lot in that time, churning through the calculations. Simulating what effects there would be from an impact in certain areas. The meteor was large enough that there was some concern that it could be a threat to the Zero Point. But as long as the island itself stood between the two, there would be no problem. 

And yet...

Time was a tricky subject in a place where all equations came out to zero. While an impact may not cause direct harm now, what might happen in the future? What if another meteor hit down the line? What if more attention was called to the Zero Point, and others tried to meddle with its impossible features? 

That scared him more than anything, as it scared his mother and the elders and even, somehow, the machines, as their processors slowed while preparing the results. As if hesitant to display the answer, in anticipation of the reaction. For there was such a place where, if the meteor hit, would set off a chain reaction that could end all the worlds. 

But the chances of that were very, very low. Low, but not zero. And as far as he was concerned, that meant it might happen. The probabilities favored other outcomes, safer ones. But there, at the bottom of the list: apocalypse. It stayed there, even as the rest of the list reorganized with each new run of the calculations. 

Then it started rising very, very quickly, towards the top of the list. 

* * *

A meeting was called. 

His reflections all had their own versions of the meeting as well, and they were all dreadfully similar: all resources would be focused on Zero Point observation until further notice. The machines were working on it. A solution would be found. 

He was a worrier, though; he couldn't help it. He tried to find a solution as well, stumbling through equations, rushing through the calculations. Some of his reflections went even faster, while others took more care. Eventually, a few proposed a theorem, tying together aspects of the mathematics involved in a potential time entanglement from the loop's effect on the island should the Zero Point be released. It was incredibly complex, dependent on several variables that could make or break the whole thing. Variables that couldn't be verified without going to the island itself. 

For that reason, the elders rejected it out of hand. No interference, was the law of their kind. If a metric could not be measured from the outside, then it was irrelevant. Too risky, too radical, too resourceful. Rejected. 

And for most of his reflections, that was the end of it. They could lose each other, the loop, the bridge, but they would not break the rules. 

He would. 

He pleaded with his reflections: _we have to try._ The one who had originally formulated the theorem nodded, but the others were not as enthusiastic. One by one, they all turned away. All but six, who looked tense but finally nodded. They would try. Seven of them against all the worlds, in hopes that the Zero Point could be saved. Against the enforcers who would undoubtedly come calling when the rifts began to open, against any entity hoping to take the Zero Point for themselves. 

The seven formed a plan, and managed to convince the other reflections not to tattle. He wasn't sure how much he trusted his other selves, but it couldn't be helped. So he stole a rocket, and the formulas to make the metals and machines that made it work, and he left, heading for the meteor that was still hurtling toward the Zero Point. 

He would be the first visitor of their kind to the island, and likely the last as well. 

* * *

The plan was simple, or at least, it was supposed to be. 

He circled the meteor several times when he reached it, scanning it, running the calculations. And every time, it gave a different answer. Not for long. He steered his pod inside of it, slotting in through one of the pores in its surface, checked the trajectory again, then gave the navigation stick a slight nudge. The calculations shifted, then settled on a location: a place called Dusty Depot. Far enough from where the Zero Point was supposed to be that it would cause no harm. He went to sleep. 

He slept through the crash, stumbling out when he realized there were people outside the pod. Sporting badges, they appeared to be representatives of whatever passed for a government on this island. He gave them a very vague explanation, focusing on the part where he needed to get home, and they gave him some supplies and a place where he could work. But they wanted to keep an eye on him, so eventually he left the divot and found a place hidden in the mountains where he could work in peace. 

This was the trickier part: getting home. Leaving the loop was nearly impossible. He'd have to use the Zero Point to even get enough power to break through spacetime hard enough to create a rift that could take him out. Improbable, but not impossible. 

Except he missed, and found himself careening through time instead, opening cracks around the island and leaving a huge one in the sky. 

His most loyal reflection, the one who'd come up with this all, panicked. In the scant few moments when they could communicate, the Visitor saw voice messages come in, and he slammed the record button and saved them to tapes. But he was cheered; the Scientist had a plan. It would take a while, but conditions would be right eventually. 

So when he found himself back in the meteor, suspended in time above Dusty Depot, he was not surprised. Instead he was terrified, because this had been the worst case scenario, back when there was still a chance the meteor would hit the Zero Point directly. 

Now they would have to do so on purpose. 

* * *

_"What the Seven of us are attempting is... very risky."_

From the sky fell the machines, reminiscent of something back home. The Visitor found them, collected them, inspected them. There was something... off. Like they were built using someone who didn't have the blueprints but had instructions without any pictures. Place rod A into socket B. Insert five screws into holes around side C and tighten until snug. At least this made it quite simple to take them apart, slicing through the crude welding and forging them again stronger.

_"I suspect that They are not the only ones watching. But it must be done or we lose the bridge forever."_

He thought that was very likely. It was probably not their people watching, but someone else. Someone clever enough to build these mechs, but not advanced enough to do it properly. 

_"I speculate that no one calculated the formation of the Island. That interdimensional matter collisions would resolve rather than push. Now that I witness it first hand, it's obvious that Pinching alone made it inevitable."_

Pinching... it was true, the different biomes melded together seamlessly, despite their various places of origin. Even the rift bubbles brought in the other worlds without any damage. There were a few oddities, such as the cable leading to Tilted Town, and the very obvious lack of snow in Greasy Grove, but nothing substantial. Nothing like the mishaps that the rift beacons themselves caused in the transfer. _No breaking, no building. Beware the horde. Crouch to prop._ It was no wonder that the people on the island began to avoid those locations. 

_"When I hear this again, will it help me remember? Or once Looped, will I be just as muted as the others? No matter, it seems the lengthy precautions worked."_

Precautions... they had been careful, that was for sure. The memory loss that afflicted all those in the loop was obvious on the faces of everyone he saw. But fortunately it was avoidable, if only just. 

_"The"- static- "theorem was a success! I... us... you arrived outside the loop at the exact moment of expansion. This effectively paused the singularity giving us time to create the devices needed to synchronize the junction. What I didn't factor was that the only way to trigger the device was from within the loop itself. Thus this hasty and primitive recording and why now you... I find myself Looped."_

How had it even been released to begin with? What could have possibly found its way here that got its way into the vault? He collected pieces from a mech near a giant skeleton and had to wonder. He picked a flower in this vicinity and dropped it immediately; it leaked a strange acidic liquid that had started to burn his suit. 

_"Activate the beacon at precisely this timer reaches nothing. The zero point must be contained once more. If they are correct, it will be the end."_

The rocket rose above the warehouse, nearly complete. All that was left was the timer, calibrated again and again to make sure it was right. He wasn't sure how he got this responsibility, but he would do it. The Scientist was right: the bridge was too valuable to lose. They would go home and maybe even be hailed as heroes. The Visitor hoped that at least the other millions of his reflections who hadn't joined them would at least be proud. 

One of the faiths of one of the worlds out there had a saying: _for dust you are, and to dust you shall return._ So the Visitor was not surprised that it was this place, this Dusty Depot, from where they would start the end of the world. 

* * *

There was no missing this time. 

He hit the Zero Point dead-on, with enough force to cause a shockwave that rolled across the island. He could see, for a moment, people floating above him, pushed away from the impact. Then the meteor hit, and he was sucked in along with everything else. 

At the end of the spiral of all the memories locked in the loop, after all the locations and weapons and beings had been sucked away, a woman in a green suit appeared in an endless white plain, where crystal butterflies fluttered about. "You have done well," she said. He asked her about the bridge, and she frowned. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that," she said. 

"Why?"

She nodded behind him. "Ask your friends."

He turned around, and there were the rest of the Seven, watching him, and he looked at them each in turn. At the end of the semicircle, doubled over and flailing her arm in a cruel pantomime of laughing, was the Paradigm, her display lit up with a vicious grin. He heard the Scientist start spouting off numbers, seemingly at random- _11, 146, 15, 62_ \- while he struggled with what to say. The Visitor decided on "Why?" but she didn't respond. 

The Visitor turned back to the woman of the singularity, but he didn't know what to say to her either, so she spoke for him. "There is always a place for you in the loop," she said, and waved. 

* * *

And there he was, at a place he knew instinctively as Camp Cod, surrounded by the wreckage of the island he had destroyed. In the air he heard a sound, and he looked up, surprised to see a plane rather than a bus, with a strange circular symbol on its wings. 

**Author's Note:**

> A year prior to this being posted, it rained in my apartment due to a broken washing machine on the floor above, flooding my hallway and kitchen, but I still logged on and made sure to watch the event while waiting for maintenance. And I was fortunate enough to have time off from work during the black hole, allowing me to be one of the first people to play on the new island when the servers came back up. But strangely enough, my pro controller never worked again after the event, so I struggled along with joy-cons until I could buy a new one. A few days later, I started writing this, though not enough to have a whole story. A few days ago, I found the notes and finished it. I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
